


Down All Your Darkest Roads

by ohnojustimagine



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Hate Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23034109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnojustimagine/pseuds/ohnojustimagine
Summary: Johnny won't let it go. (With background Tommaso/OFC.)
Relationships: Johnny Gargano/Original Female Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Down All Your Darkest Roads

Tommaso doesn’t want to talk about it, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned in all the time you’ve been with him it’s that when Tommaso doesn’t want to talk about something, it’s best to leave it alone.

But _you_ can’t leave it alone, and so as soon you arrive at Full Sail for this week’s show, the first thing you do is go looking for _him_.

_Him_ , Johnny, and he’s not hard to find, warming up in his usual out-of-the-way spot, facing the wall so he doesn’t see you approaching.

You shove at his shoulder, hard enough that he spins around, tensed and ready to fight, but then as soon as he sees it’s you, his stance relaxes. A slow, smugly satisfied smile spreads across his face, and _god_ but you want to hit him, but instead you demand, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“You know what I’m doing,” he replies, in that infuriatingly self-righteous tone. “You know _why._ ”

“No, actually, I don’t know _why_ , so maybe you should explain it to me, Johnny.”

“You know,” he repeats, stubborn. 

“Oh my god,” you say, practically yelling in frustration. “Why do you have to be like this? Why can’t you just let it go?”

“I’ll never let it go,” he says, venomous, eyes dark. He stares at you for a moment, and then before you can react he’s got you backed up against the wall, his hands running over you, body pressed tight against yours to keep you in place.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” you spit out, trying to push him away, but he’s too strong, all that deceptively lean, wiry muscle more powerful than you even remember.

“Aw, come on, baby,” he croons, mockingly. “You know you want it.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

He reaches up under your skirt, shifting your panties aside, and _shit,_ you realize, because you’re already wet, humiliatingly so, the adrenaline of anger never failing to turn you on even when you think you’re above it.

You hear him laugh, as he touches you. “You love it,” he says. “You always did.” He gets two fingers on your clit, rubbing it slowly, circling with just the right amount of pressure, and you can’t stop the gasp that falls unbidden from your mouth, betraying you. “Just like old times, isn’t it?” he goes on. “You and me, in some corner somewhere backstage, trying to be quiet, hoping no one will see us.” His voice is lower, his mouth against your ear. “I don’t know about you, but I always kind of got off on it, the thought of maybe getting caught.” You stifle a cry as his fingers slip inside you, long and clever, curving to find your most sensitive spot, pressing on it, and your hips buck up.

“What if someone’s watching?” he murmurs, tone sharpening as he adds, “What if _he’s_ watching? What do you think he’d do if he saw us like this?”

And you hate yourself for it, but you’re coming, trying not to moan, burying your face in his shoulder, holding on to him as it shudders through you to completion.

He doesn’t say anything, but you stare up at him, and there’s a rage burning cold in his eyes that’s like nothing you’ve ever seen in him, not ever before.

“All that time,” he says. “Everything he did, what he did to _me_ , and you stayed with him.”

“What was I supposed to do?” you ask, helplessly.

“You said you’d leave him.” He glances down at the floor for just a brief second, then seems to compose himself again. “You promised me.”

“It’s not that simple,” you reply. “God, you think everything’s so black and white, don’t you? You never could understand.”

“No,” he says. “I _do_ understand, I understand _everything_ now.” He unzips his jeans, and you look away, biting your lip, not wanting to see. But he doesn’t care, grabbing your wrist, trying to drag your hand down to him, and though you struggle against it, he doesn’t let you go. “Do it,” he growls. “You _owe_ me.”

“I don’t owe you _shit_ , Johnny,” you snarl back at him, and yet you let him guide your hand to his cock, your fingers curling around him, the feel of it familiar as an old ache, a yearning for something you know is long gone.

But you stroke him, closing your eyes, listening to him breathe, the quickening of it as he gets closer and closer. You hear him exhale, harsh, like a bitten-off grunt, and though you try to catch his come in your hand, he moves, deliberate enough to make sure most of it lands on your skirt.

“Oh,” he says, sarcastic, stepping back and looking down at you. “ _Sorry_.”

“Yeah, go fuck yourself.”

“Well,” he tells you, “you know, I would, but I think you just took care of that for me.”

You let out a defeated sigh. “Why do you always have to be such a dick?”

“Isn’t that what you’re into?” he asks, smirking at you. “Bad boys and black hearts?”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you say. “You never did.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you again next week.”

“No,” you state. “No, you can stay the hell away from me.”

“Or what?” Johnny says, laughing. “You going to tell Tommaso?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

He steps away from you, zipping up his jeans, and you lean back against the wall, swallowing down on the taste rising in your throat, feeling like you might cry.

But Johnny just smiles. “Tell him I said hi,” he says, turning, and you watch him walk away.


End file.
